Chapter 023 - Moonlit Mirage 10

  "Thank you." The old man—No. 9—murmured, his voice trembling as his weary eyes flickered with an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

  "It’s nothing," I replied, though my gaze lingered on the blood-soaked wreckage around us. The scent of iron clung thick in the air, and my mind churned over the implications of what had just unfolded. "That mechanical voice—the system, let’s call it that—gave us a task: help Yangjin retrieve her skin. But skin… No one’s found the real thing yet. Still, substitutes seem to suffice, at least for now."

  Elliot shifted his attention to the first girl Yangjin had questioned.

  She was the one in the high-collared sports jacket. There was an edge to her tone as she spoke, voice slightly raised. "When Yangjin first picked up the black flag, she said it wasn’t her skin, but it looked a lot like it. Doesn’t that mean her actual skin must share at least some resemblance to that flag? Maybe in color, maybe in texture."

  The girl caught our eyes, one brow lifting slightly.

  As she stepped toward us, she said, "Exactly. I have reason to believe her skin is black. This round, we should prioritize searching for black leather items." A pause, then a quick introduction. "I’m No. 25. You can call me that, or ‘Wind’ if you prefer."

  I watched her closely, noting the way she moved—silent, calculated, her balance impeccable. She had the quiet agility of someone used to slipping through the world unnoticed.

  After a round of introductions, No. 25 slid seamlessly into our group, as if she had always belonged.

  I cast a sidelong glance at Elliot, faintly amused. Apparently, he was better at drawing people in than I’d thought.

  The upper floors—five through eight—remained untouched, abandoned out of fear. They were too close to Yangjin. No one dared venture that high.

  Instead, everyone clustered on floors two through four.

  The second floor had claimed two lives. The third, four. The fourth, six.

  No. 25 absently touched the tip of her nose, then leaned against a nearby pillar, arms folded. "I started searching the upper floors first, but something felt off. There were barely any leather items up there—just some old hemp ropes, ceremonial banners, and offering tables. Didn’t seem useful, so I headed down to the second floor instead."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Her gaze flicked to the pile of miscellaneous junk I’d gathered. A flicker of exasperation crossed her face. "The second floor had the most of this kind of stuff. You guys got lucky. Next round, though… I doubt only twelve people will die."

  I exhaled slowly, running my fingers over the leather scraps in my hands. "The attic has a limited number of leather objects. If we can’t find the real skin… everyone dies." I hesitated, a thought creeping in. "Wait. The attic…"

  I turned, eyes narrowing as I stared beyond the broken window frame.

  "What if the real skin isn’t inside at all? What if it’s outside?"

  No. 25 tilted her head slightly, intrigued. A small, almost approving smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Then, without a word, she sprang up, landing effortlessly on the windowsill.

  "Look for yourself." She gestured outward. "It’s nothing but blackness. A void stretching endlessly in every direction. There’s no sign of anything out there. And the lake? Who’s to say if it’s even crossable?"

  I frowned. "Didn’t it freeze over?" I pointed to the fractured spot where the deep-voiced man had fallen through earlier. The cracks still marred the surface.

  No. 25 scoffed. "Frozen?"

  She hopped down from the sill, grabbed a wooden plank from the floor, and, with a flick of her wrist, tossed it outside.

  "Watch carefully."

  The plank plunged downward—except it didn’t shatter ice.

  Instead, it vanished, swallowed by the inky waters below. No splash. No ripples. No sign it had ever existed.

  But the cracks? They were still there, webbed across the surface beside where it had disappeared.

  Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.

  I drummed my fingers against the windowsill, my mind racing. "Thanks for the demonstration. That man was already dead when he fell, so we can rule out any difference between how dead and living things interact with the lake. That leaves two possibilities."

  I held up one finger. "First, objects thrown from different floors might trigger different reactions in the water."

  A second finger. "Second, the result changes depending on who throws it. When Yangjin dropped something, the ice cracked. When we did, it just… disappeared."

  No. 25 nodded, picking up where I left off. "I tested it from the fourth floor too. Same thing—it acted like water. The second floor has no windows, so there’s no way to test from there. As for the first floor…" She trailed off, her expression unreadable.

  "I haven’t dared to try yet.

  But I figure, next round, when Yangjin makes her move to the top floor… we’ll get our answer."